Underwater
by Ellie Slaughter
Summary: Because you felt so free and the water was so deep and you couldn't help to fall in it one last time, to drift away, like the movies. -Oneshot-


Author's Note: Hey there, I decided to do this oneshot, just because (insane writer's block). It's an overused idea, but I'm really just trying out a different style and format of writing. So, if anyone has constructive criticism about the style and my format that would be heavily appreciated. So, without further ado, here is the story.

* * *

You stand outside the local pawn shop in the small community of LaPush. You can vaguely remember pawning the 14 carat engagement ring he gave you three months prior. It was simple in all its elegance. Just like the love the both of you shared, or, at least, that's what he told you when he dropped down on one knee in front of your mother's house. The small black television set that was too old for the time period of plasma and HD tvs, yet there it was resting in the window seal selling for two hundred and fifty dollars. On its dull colored screen, there's you on the headline news. Or, breaking news as they not so eloquently put it. You, who stands within the hoards of the passerbys on their way home from a busy day of work, stares blankly as the news reporters interview the people closest to you.

_"I can't believe she is missing. Someone, please, if you have any idea where she is, please find her. She's my baby girl."_ You hear the mourned words of your mother; Sue. She looks rather beautiful under the light of the camera, you think to yourself. Diverting your attention away from the tv screen, you notice how the people ignore you on the sidewalk, just like raindrops in this shitty town.

And within your musings, you realize that you're not so alone. A little boy, no older than five years old, stops and stares at the ancient tv screen as you were doing just moments before. His stubby hands press against the glass barrier that is between the two souls and the inside of the store. His hot breath fogging the glass with each inhale and exhale that escaped his lips.

"Pretty," was all that uttered from his thin, pink lips. You look at the black fuzz that was perched on his head, you look back at the tv and murmured yourself a meager, "yeah".

* * *

Underwater

* * *

You have fallen out of favor, grace, trees, on your face, out of taxi's, windows even, his opinion when you fell in love with him. You sit down on the rocky cliffs, Jack Daniel's in hand, guzzling each drop as if it was your last supper. Each drop that touched your tongue added a new numbing sensation. You rub your ring finger with a longing that you didn't even know you possessed. Sometimes you wish, wistfully, for falling. Falling for the sake of the release of the ties that bind you to this Earth; to the people around you or maybe just him, Jacob Black (the second bastard that imprinted just when you thought that he was all yours, _bastard_). Just falling for sake of the relief of living in this sham of a life. Relief from being stressed because you don't want to become a nurse like your mother or a teacher like your cousin. Or a fucking protector of the Earth as some damn wildebeast. But they just don't get it. You just want to fall into the air. Plummet the atmosphere with your presence because you're not afraid to fall; in the proverbial sense, that is.

In fact, falling isn't the problem.

Cause when you're falling you're free; it's only when you hit the ground the grief washes upon you. Sinks into your skin and you wait; wait for the end to wash you away. You drunkenly stand to your two feet. Both legs wobbling as to inch closer to the edge of the cliff. You can feel your heart beating rapidly as you close in to your death. You can feel it on your tongue. You commence to cackle humorlessly as you curse the man who shoots the stars at night for giving you hope.

And then, something cracks inside you.

And suddenly, the breeze turns deathly cold and you can't help but wish you had a warm body next to you to keep you warm. Ignoring the fact that you're already twenty degrees warmer than the average person. And your dense heart, doesn't feel so dense anymore and the dam you carefully built in front of your eyes, breaks. Splintering just enough to allow the water to flow. You melancholily acknowledge the tears seep out of your eyes, down your cheeks, your neck, down the valley of your breasts, soaking into your 100% cotton shirt. You tip the bottle back towards your mouth, expecting a bitter taste, but nothing came out. Slightly ticked off for drinking all the alcohol, you toss the empty bottle of Jack into the sea of water and with blurred vision, you stumble towards the edge. You raise your arms above your head. Head tilted back, letting the breeze brush against your face, you smile, you're pretty sure it was a hideous smile (at least, you hope it was).

You fell.

The breeze intensifies and you can feel it rushing through your hair, between your fingertips, and the adrenaline rushing through your veins; _oh_, you can feel it. And you can't stop the smile from breaking across the span of your face. As you plummet faster towards the mouth of water, you come alive. Falling is everything you'd imagine it would be. You're falling and you're free, and you're free, and you're _free, _and _oh God_, you're so free.

_Free._

You first feel the grief when the first rock hits your back, in the middle of your spine. Your eyes enlarge. Your body is on fire. Your arms flail up to heaven that you think doesn't exist. And you sink, down the throat of the water's mouth, down to the hell where you know you belong. Water rushing through your nose, your ears, down your throat. You can't stop the inevitable hyperventilation and the swelling of your lungs with bitter saltwater. You silently wonder if you looked as aesthetically pleasing like they do in the movies.

You can feel your spine try heal itself in a futile attempt and the only thought that can come to mind is a simple _finally_.

You've always imagined dying in the ocean, having your body sink down to the ocean floor, instead of rotting in a coffin with dead flowers rotting above you, sounded much better, and letting the ocean current take you anywhere it wanted to go; where ever the moon wanted you to go.

Death by asphyxiation isn't as half bad as it seemed.

* * *

_"I hope you're living a life you're proud of. If you find out that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again."_

_F. Scott Fitzgerald_

* * *

"Coby!" You heard the shout to your right. You divert you attention away from the tv screen to an elderly woman with graying hair, half running, half walking, towards you and the little guy that's still standing next to you whom you now know is Coby. The little boy turns his attention away from the screen and in the direction that his name was called. He smiles and waves his hand. The elderly woman smiles and as she approaches him, she bends down and takes him in her arms.

"Nana!" He shouts into the hug and you couldn't tear your eyes away. She kisses his cheek and stands to her full height. She points a slightly shaky finger at him.

"Coby, you know better than to run off without me like that," she scolds as she takes his stubby hand and leads him to their destination. You continue to watch as Coby looks back and you give him a slight smile and wave of your hand. He reaches his hand back, you don't know whether it's for you or the vintage tv that he seemed to be so enthralled in, but you believe it was for you and that boosts your melancholy mood a couple of notches. He turns back around and continues his journey with his _Nana. _

You continue to stare as little Coby bumps into a couple with arms wrapped around each other, whispering sweet nothings back and forth and paying no attention to the little boy that nudged them. You laugh to yourself at the irony of it all, watching both of the things you couldn't have.

As you walk down the rush hour filled sidewalk, away from the vintage television, feeling every so often as someone walks through you like raindrops in this shitty town, wondering what to do now that you're dead. You chuckle bitterly.

You can't help but to regret killing yourself.

* * *

_"The body of the missing woman, Leah Clearwater, was found earlier this morning, two days after her disappearance. She was found dead underwater fifty miles off the La Push reservation cliffs at approximately six twenty-five this morning by authorities. Investigators found several littered, empty, alcohol bottles, ranging from vodka to hennessy, on the cliff around the area where she apparently committed suicide. The cause of death is unknown as of yet, but further details will not be released until six o'clock this evening so be sure to tune in. _

_"In Seattle we are noticing a high incline in the price of gas..."_

* * *

Author's Note: I didn't put much emphasis on why Leah chose to commit suicide, I'll leave that for reader interpretation, I guess. Everything in this piece is pretty noncommittal and take things as you please. As I said before, an overused idea, but I would really appreciate thoughts on my style and the format of the story.

Thanks for reading.


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